


The Most and Least Human

by thescribblenaut



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Greg's tired, I'm Sorry, Sally's being nice, Sherlock's a mess, for once, looking back, much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 12:11:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2024691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescribblenaut/pseuds/thescribblenaut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You do realise they’ll say this is an unprofessional, over-romanticised version of events, right?” Greg Lestrade asked of his sergeant. Sally Donovan lifted her chin defiantly.<br/>“It’s an accurate painting of them, wouldn’t you say, sir? If they don’t like my statement, they can deal with it. It’s not an official report, so I can be as unprofessional as l like, to a degree.” </p><p>***</p><p>Sherlock is called to a scene to view the last of a series of messy murders, only this time, it's not as a consulting detective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most and Least Human

**Author's Note:**

> This is both an apology and a going away present. It's an apology to all those lovely people who sent me wonderful, encouraging comments on my previous works, who I never replied to because AO3 has decided that I do not deserve the 'Reply' button. It's also and apology for not updating anything. However, as I'm going on holiday for two weeks, where there's no internet connection unless I go to McDonald's, there probably won't be any updates for a while. Again. Sorry. 
> 
> And sorry in advance, because this made me feel like an upset hedgehog while writing it ie: like curling up in a ball. I am very mean to Sherlock. I do not know why.

_It was the scream that led us to him. It would have made the hardest of war veterans jump, hearts hammering against the cages their ribs formed. It was a horrific, drawn out scream. And then a whisper._

_“John-“_

_Myself and DI Lestrade followed the sound to the last fully functioning room in the warehouse, which was half crumbling. It was there that we saw him, Sherlock Holmes, collapse to his knees next to the tattered body of his flatmate, and plausible best friend, John Watson. Doctor Watson’s body was surrounded by a pool of his own blood, dark enough to have been there for several hours._

_“Sherlock?” Lestrade was worried. I’ve voiced the opinion that Sherlock Holmes is an unstable, unfeeling psychopath, which he has never denied. It was only ever Doctor Watson and the DI who did that. I guess knowing that his back was covered by them made him arrogant enough to just ignore me. But I can now say, without a doubt, that Holmes is most definitely not unfeeling. He rarely displays any psychopathic tendencies, and in hindsight, I can see that the times he did were only when Doctor Watson was in danger. And as for unstable, well, he was only unstable after he found the body._

_“Sherlock!” Lestrade tried again. Holmes didn’t turn to us, didn’t seem to notice that he was either contaminating a crime scene, or that he was now covered in his best friend’s blood. He just seemed frozen. It was the most and least human I’ve ever seen him. He was stripped bare of all his usual defences, but unnaturally still. His next action was to lift an arm, make a fist, and slam it into the ground. Just once. Almost a last stand for his friend. A promise of revenge. I was glad I wasn’t the killer, as going by the tight line of his spine, Holmes was honestly considering whether a lifetime sentence was enough reason not to hunt them down. If I’d seen the killer, I suspect I’d have done the same. As it was, I watched as Lestrade carefully walked towards Holmes, kneeling just behind him._

_“He’s gone.” The words were cracked, managing to sound broken in the cell._

_“He’s dead, Lestrade. I was too late.” Holmes let out a sob, something I never thought I’d see from him. In all previous cases where anyone else would be crying, he’s had an upper lip of titanium._

_Lestrade gently pulled Holmes away from Doctor Watson’s body, the latter’s eyes still fixated on it. I realised he was going into shock, and sent for a blanket. Lestrade pulled Holmes into a hug, where he broke down, sobbing near silently._

_“It’s okay, it’s alright. Let it go.” Lestrade said these phrases and other comforting sounds as Holmes cried against his chest, collapsed there on the ground. Forensics and paramedics arrived then, and we were ushered out, Holmes wrapped in the shock blanket, guided away by Lestrade. I wasn’t sure he’d ever be the same again._

_This is a summary of the discovery of the final victim of the Lawson murders, as witnessed by Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan._

* * *

 

 “You do realise they’ll say this is an unprofessional, over-romanticised version of events, right?” Greg Lestrade asked of his sergeant. Sally Donovan lifted her chin defiantly.

“It’s an accurate painting of them, wouldn’t you say, sir? If they don’t like my statement, they can deal with it. It’s not an official report, so I can be as unprofessional as l like, to a degree.” She said firmly. Greg sighed, plonking the sheet of paper on his desk, to one side.

“How’re you coping?” He asked. “I mean it as a friend, Sally, not as your boss.” He added, as she opened her mouth.

“Can I sit down?” She asked. Lestrade gestured at the chair with a sort of _I’m not going to stop you_ air. Sally sat, before leaning forwards, practically using the desk as a pillow.

“Coping doesn’t really match my mood, sir. You?”

“With difficulty. I keep wanting to punch something, then realise that John would kill me, then realise that he _can’t,_ because someone killed _him_ first.” Greg sighed. Sally nodded, looking past her friend out the window, at the city below them.

“Have you seen Holmes?” She asked.

“Yeah. You could say that.” Sally sat up.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he’s in a God-awful state. Nearly had to be taken to hospital for malnutrition three times now. He’s not suicidal, he’s just, I don’t know, given up. He’s not Sherlock Holmes any more. Losing John destroyed him, Sally.”

“I can imagine. Doc- _John_ once told me that his old therapist would’ve had a field day with the kind of co-dependency they had going on.”

“Inseparable had to catch up with those two.” Greg laughed hollowly. The two officers fell into a painful silence.

“You know what the worst part is?” Greg suddenly asked bitterly. Without waiting for an answer, he carried on.

“With the whole Reichenbach debacle, it was two years of hell, but it wasn’t permanent. Sherlock came back. A slightly different person, yes, but he came back.”

“And John can’t.” Sally summarized. They fell into another silence, before Sally stood, utterly professional again.

“I’d better go, sir. They’ll be expecting the paperwork on the Milston case.” She said. Greg nodded, staring into space. Sally paused, then walked out. At the door, she stopped again.

“Oh, sir?” She asked. Greg lurched back to the moment, blinking at her.

 

“If I’d romanticised it, John wouldn’t have died.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it, and please leave comments and kudos! Constructive criticism will, at the very least, be considered, but if you're just downright nasty I won't even bother fighting with the 'reply' button to say anything.
> 
> Have a nice day!


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